Full of Grace
by SashaDaae
Summary: Christine, after all her ordeals, contemplates in her broken mind what could have been. How she could have changed everything. But maybe, just maybe, their paths will cross again. "It's better this way...."


DISCLAIMER: You guys know the drill. Characters aren't mine. Song belongs to Sarah McLachlan.

NOTE: This is based more off of ALW's play/movie version.

_The winter here is cold, & bitter_

_It's chilled us to the bone,_

_I haven't seen the sun for weeks,_

_Too long, too far from home._

It could have been different. She didn't have to leave him. She could have stayed, allowing the music to wrap around her like a blanket. She could have been a star, with him by her side.

But it wasn't what she chose. No, Christine left with Raoul. And this was her punishment. Shunned by his parents, sneered at by the many women who had long pined for her fiancé. Weeks of convincing, lying through her teeth and pulling her corset strings so tight she felt her ribs would crush and kill her.

Even that would have been better than this. She barely recognized herself anymore. She stared at her reflection with horror and grim amusement. The rings under her eyes had deepened, her rich locks were limp, no matter how much preening the maids would do.

He no longer consumed her mind. She still thought of him, but it felt more like a distant memory, a story, than what had happened but two months ago. His image had blurred and faded, finally dying- she could not remember his features, his disfigurement. Even his voice, that beautiful voice sent from God himself, had waned to a buzz in her ears.

_I feel just like I'm sinking,_

_And I claw for solid ground,_

_I'm pulled down by the undertow,_

_I never thought I could feel so low,_

_And oh darkness I feel like letting go._

The maid, Bernadette, tugged at her hair so hard Christine was certain it would all rip out. Then, maybe, Raoul would cut her out of his life. She could look for him.

But no, this was wishful thinking. It was the day of their wedding, and if anyone would be the one with cold feet, that would be Christine. She had murmured to her lover how excited she was in the silence of the night, and Raoul had took this as truth. He prided himself in such a find, in winning her back from the beast.

When they had left in the boat, he had wrapped his arm around her waist. Christine knew this was meant to be a comfort, and yet her bones had never been so cold in her life. She longed to turn back, to save the man from certain death. But she had made her choice, and she had to follow through. She could not betray her lover, her greatest friend and confidant.

_If all the of the strength and all of the courage,_

_Come and lift me from this place,_

_I know I can love you much better than this,_

_I could have tried harder._

"What was that, miss?" Christine's eyes widened- she didn't mean to speak her thoughts aloud.

"Excuse me, Bernadette. Could you give me a moment alone?" In false anxiety she twisted her hands around each other. The maid gave a knowing smile and nodded.

"I'll return in ten minutes, miss. Be ready, soon you will be a married woman!"

"Yes." Christine sighed, rubbing her temple. She gazed longingly out the churches' window panes, barely registering the happenings of the outside world.

Outside. She felt like an outsider. She was like him- she would never belong in this society. Yes, she was beautiful, graceful, a lovely voice. And yet her soul was shattered, splintered, something not even the almighty knight in shining armor could repair with a kiss and a smile.

She really could have saved him. Brought him into the light, into redemption. They could have fled, perhaps to Russia or Turkey- as long as it was far away.

It made Christine feel better to convince herself he was dead, but this only conjoured images of a mangled body lying in a gutter, a white mask bloodied in a corner somewhere. She gasped and held on to the sides of the mirror desperately, as if it was the only thing to keep her knees from collapsing beneath her.

It was too much. She had to know. She could not go on until she knew.

_Full of grace,_

_Full of grace,_

_My love._

But Bernadette returned all too quickly, reaching for her mistresses' hands. "My! You are so cold! Don't be nervous, miss. You are lovely, he loves you, everyone will adore you."

She had no male relative to give her away. She walked down the aisle, feeling dejected and unwanted. What seemed like thousands of eyes gazed at her, seemed to undress her and judge her. Look at what a whore she is, look at what she has done! What a disgrace to the de Chagny name! They seemed to say.

Christine's mind faded in and out of the present; her responses were hesitant and quiet. She forced a smile at Raoul. Oh Raoul, noble Raoul.

What a mistake you are, Raoul, she thought cruelly.

_It's better this way, I say,_

_Having seen this place before,_

_Where everything we say and do,_

_Hurts us all the more._

Their congratulations seemed miles away as her legs carried her out of the church and into the streets of France. She could run, run away from all this and find him. They could live in music, with music, with each other.

And yet, she stayed with him. Two failed pregnancies and a silence that consumed their household. Christine seemed to distance herself from her husband more and more, despite the jewels and treats he brought home with him to coax her out of her bedroom and away from the mirrors that lured her.

She believed that if she stared long enough, his face- the mask, the fedora, the eyes- would reappear. She tried in vain to reclaim his image in her mind, but it was gone, truly gone. But if she looked in the mirrors, Christine could just barely remember him. It was like lighting a dying candle, flickering for a couple of moments, the hope that it would grow- but then a sudden rush of wind would extinguish it, and Christine would start all over again.

A man, a strange foreigner, resided in the house next door. She had seen him, once, through the roses Raoul had planted in the back of the chateau for her. His skin was bronze, eyes like flecks of topaz. He walked slowly with a slight limp in his leg, but he had smiled at her when he caught her staring.

"Madame, I am pleased to meet you, even if your manners are not up to par with the rest of your people." He had called to her, his French fluid and slightly accented.

_It's just that we stayed, too long,_

_In the same old sickly skin,_

_I'm pulled down by the undertow,_

_I never thought I could feel so low,_

_And oh darkness I feel like letting go._

One day, he had come to her door.

"Madame, if you would." He extended his hand to her. Christine stared, her sunken eyes probing the air around him. "Please, it is an important matter." Finally, she accepted, her bruised and fragile hand wrapped in his leathery tanned one.

He led her, like a father leads a child, to his home next door and led her inside. There was an exotic scent in the air, of something she could not exactly place. Christine gazed upwards as the man slipped his shoes off and again led her by the hand to the upstairs.

"I feel like I should know you." She said in a dramatic, hushed voice, leaning forward slightly as if other invisible humans would hear her and promptly scream her revelations to the rest of France. Instead the man smiled, brought a finger to his lips, and led her into a dark room lit only by candles.

_If all of the strength and all of the courage,_

_Come and lift me from this place,_

_I know I could love you much better than this,_

_Full of grace._

She drew her breath in sharply, so sharply the man believed she would choke on her breath.

There he was.

He lay feebly on the bed, his hands trembling violently against the ruby-red sheets. His eyes bore into her own, the infection on his face cracked and bloody. A line of spit ran from the peeled-away lips and onto the pillow, his shallow breaths making his chest heave with the effort. The fedora lay next to the bed, muddy and ripped. She swore she could see his heart through the thin layer of skin.

"Christine…"

_I know I can love you much better than this,_

_It's better this way._

"Christine!"

Raoul shook her awake. "Christine, please, are you all right?"

She turned away from him, her breath shaky with the tears she did not dare to shed. Another night, another false hope.

"It's better this way." She whispered.


End file.
